


The Walrus and the Guy Who Carpents

by plainapple



Category: Psych
Genre: Crush, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Mystery, Non-Penetrative Sex, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-27
Updated: 2011-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-25 00:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plainapple/pseuds/plainapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn is pulled into the shady world of Santa Barbara politics as he and they investigate the death of a city councilman’s intern.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may know this from livejournal as "Plainapple’s Opus: A Slashtacular Adventure of Psychish Proportions!". That's right, it took me over a year to come up with a better title.

\-- 1987 --

Shawn bounced on the balls of his feet. The ham fisted ten year old directly behind him bumped against Shawn for what had to be the eighty bazillionth time. Shawn stuck out his arms chicken-dance style creating an elbow buffer zone between him and the kids at his side. He wasn’t going to back down. Not when he was this close.

Shawn could see them through the locked automatic doors. A perfect pyramid of bright red boxes. The Robotron Mega Bot 3000—the most advanced action figure ever created. It had a real launching missile hand, it spoke five different phrases and its eyes shot laser beams. Real laser beams. In the commercial they’d cut right through a wall. It was the it toy of the summer and Shawn was going to get it first.

The clerk was by the doors now. Shawn watched as he pulled a keychain from his apron. Everything moved in slow motion. The hand choosing the right key. The key sliding into its slot. The hand turning the key… and then… open doors!

Shawn ran as fast as he could. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a tall kid go down. It was his own fault for not noticing his shoelaces had been untied. In front of him a red headed boy Shawn knew from school got tangled up in a short bucktoothed kid. Shawn dodged around the pileup, barely managing to stay on his feet. He was close. He reached out of one of the boxes but it was snatched away. Another one. Shawn lunged, his fingertips brushed against the box but a curly headed girl already had it in her arms. Not fair. Mega Bot was supposed to be for boys.

Shawn started to panic. He wasn’t going to get one! They were almost gone! But then, there at the very bottom of the pile… Shawn dove head first, arms stretching out ahead of him. Contact.

“I got it!” Shawn called to Henry, “I got it!”

“Good,” Henry answered. “Let’s buy it and get out of here before I have to put down a riot. I’ve never seen this kind of craziness in my life.”

Shawn was ecstatic. He’d gotten one. He’d beaten all the other kids who’d gotten up to wait outside the Toy Mart at 4am and he’d gotten one. The feeling lasted all the way though the checkout line and almost all the way out of the store until Shawn saw…it.

It was in the clearance bin just by the entrance, staring out at Shawn through a flimsy cellophane window in its garish pink box. Stockbroker Ken. Shawn took in a deep breath.

“Dad!” he exclaimed.

Henry groaned, “What Shawn?”

Shawn pointed at the Ken doll, “Look.”

Henry looked, but strangely enough didn’t seem to be impressed. Shawn didn’t get it, how could Henry be so calm when they were looking at the greatest thing ever made? Stockbroker Ken was perfect. He had a square jaw, coiffed black hair and an impeccable black suit complete with little paisley tie. His bright blue eyes probably didn’t shoot laser beams, but Shawn didn’t care. They were… well, Shawn wasn’t sure what they were, but he needed to own them.

“Dad! We have to get that!”

Henry rolled his eyes, “Shawn, I just spent twenty dollars on one piece of plastic junk, I’m not doing it again.”

“Please, Dad!”

“No, Shawn, we came here for your robo thingy and we’ve got it, let’s go.”

“But I don’t want the Robotron, I want Stockbroker Ken!” Shawn protested, “Please, please, can I have the Ken if we put the Robotron back?”

“Put it back? Shawn, I don’t believe you. You’ve been talking about nothing but this, this ‘Robotron’ for three weeks. Now you’ve had it for three minutes and you want to put it back?”

“Yes!”

“No, Shawn,” Henry said firmly. “We got here early for a reason. There’s a line all the way to the back of the store now and I’m not waiting in it so you can exchange your overpriced action figure for some bargain bin girl’s toy.”

“But…!”

“Look Shawn. You were waiting right behind that door for an hour with the Ken doll right in front of you. All you had to do was look around and see it, but you were too focused on the fancy robot in the shiny red box. Maybe this is a good lesson for you. I don’t think you ever really wanted that toy—you just wanted the ‘win’. All the other kids were dying to have a robo-ton so you decided you had to have one too, and you had to have it first. Well, now you’ve got it, and now what? You have to think about these things Shawn. Going after something just because you’ll beat someone else to it is no way to live. You could have walked out of here today with what you really wanted, but you blew it. Now let’s go.”

When they got home Shawn had thrown the shopping bag with the robot into the back of his closet. He never even took it out of the box.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

\-- Present Day --

Shawn had read once that if two adults maintained eye contact for over ten seconds they were either going to kiss each other or kill each other.

He didn’t usually place much stock in facts printed on the front of novelty post cards, but for some reason that one had stuck with him. Maybe it was the way he read it; aloud, very much aloud, in the middle of a crowded book store, to Gus. Once he was sure they had an audience, Shawn had clamped his hands on Gus’s shoulders and stared soulfully into his eyes. He was just about to slide the tip of his tongue along his lips and lean in for the ultimate ‘freak out Gus with gayness’ moment when Gus snapped, “Shawn, you know when I kill you it won’t be in front of all these witnesses.”

“Dude,” Shawn had answered, “First of all, I was clearly going for option one, second of all, shouldn’t that be if? If I kill you?”

Gus had just turned and walked away, calling out as he left the shop, “I said what I said.”

Regardless of why he remembered it, Shawn was glad he did. It was the kind of fact that could be important to his survival someday. Like right now, for instance, because they were eight seconds in and Shawn was pretty sure Lassiter wasn’t going to kiss him. Like, 92, 93 percent sure.

“Spencer…”

96 percent sure. Shawn broke eye contact at the nine second mark.

Shawn didn’t really think that Lassie would try to kill him, but he had pinned Shawn hard enough against the wall that there was a good possibility for accidental bruising if Shawn antagonized him any more than he already had. Man hand bruises on his chest could totally ruin Shawn’s image if he had to, say… take off his shirt in the middle of a sorority beach party thrown in honor of special guest alumni Carol Alt. It could happen.

“What part of ‘leave this building now’ did you not understand?” asked Lassiter.

“Mostly the leave. Also the now. A little bit of the this…” Shawn was cut off by a low growl from the back of Lassiter’s throat.

It wasn’t so much scary as impressive. Lassiter was the only man Shawn knew who could pull off a growl without sounding like a nineteen year old World of Warcraft addict trying to be Christian Bale as the Batman. The difference, he supposed, was that Lassiter’s growl wasn’t forced. It came as naturally to him as it would to… to what? Not a tiger, because the only tiger growl Shawn knew sounded all ‘grrreat!’, and not a cougar because cougars were scary ladies who followed him down the produce isle and asked him how to tell if a pineapple was ripe while casually mentioning their ex (emphasis on the ex) husbands, and not a puma because that was Gus’s special big cat and Shawn would never take that away from him, but something like a puma. Something dark. Something Sleek.

“A jaguar?”

“What?”

“ A jag-yew-ahhr.” Shawn drew out the word in his best high class British accent. How did that commercial go? Isn’t it time you tried a jaguar?

“Leave.”

Lassiter pulled Shawn away from the wall he had shoved him unceremoniously into just a moment earlier and took position squarely behind him, his hands gripping Shawn’s upper arms as he guided him towards the elevator bank. Shawn glanced over his shoulder at Gus, who rolled his eyes and gave Shawn his ‘I told you we should have stayed in the office and finished building our Johnny Handsome themed plinko machine instead of getting involved in a case we weren’t assigned to’ face. It was amazing how specific Gus’s faces could be.

“But we just got here!” Shawn protested.

“Great,” answered Lassiter, “Then you remember where the door is.”

“Just, let me take a look in the apartment. Just a peek. A glance? A shy flirty gaze through my lowered, lustrous lashes?”

“Why don’t you look at it with your third eye Spencer?” Lassiter suggested, “From the elevator. Or the Lobby. Or from as far away from this apartment building as you can get in the next ten minutes.”

“Why ten minutes?” asked Shawn.

“Because in ten minutes the chief is going to be here with Councilman Drowvers and I will not have you flailing your arms around the room, or making eyes at O’Hara, or telling Guster not to be Davis McDonald from She’s Having a Baby, or in any other way making a fool of this department in front of an elected official.”

Lassiter jabbed the call button on the wall a little too hard. Shawn heard him draw in a sharp breath of pain. Poor Lassie finger.

“Wow, Lassie,” Shawn said, “I don’t even know where to start with that. First of all, Drowvers, really? What is he, Councilman in charge of the Santa Barbara Stuffy Old Menservants Union? Plus I think that’s the first time the phrase ‘making eyes’ has been used outside a retirement home in the past thirty years and I would never, never, compare Gus to a Baldwin brother. Maybe William. But only in Flatliners.”

“Thomas Drowvers has sat on the city council for over twenty years,” Lassiter informed Shawn. “He’s one of the most respected…”

The elevator door pinged open, “Chief!” Shawn exclaimed.

“Chief.” Lassiter echoed, his hands dropping from Shawn’s arms, “We, uh, didn’t expect you here so soon. Spencer was just leaving.”

“Councilman Drowvers,” said Shawn, taking the hand of the somber, jowly man in the dark suit next to Chief Vick, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” The man answered, confirming Shawn’s guess about his identity. “Carrie was a bright girl. Capable, organized, one of the best interns my office has ever had.”

“Yes, I know,” Shawn answered, “And I want you to know that Carrie is telling me she’s at peace.”

The Councilman’s eyes widened, “What?”

“Oh,” Shawn answered. “I’m sorry. Sometimes the messages from the spirit world are so strong that I can’t stop myself from communicating them. You see, Councilman Drowvers, my name is Shawn Spencer, and I’m a psychic.” Shawn raised a hand to his temple.

“I don’t believe in psychics.” Drowvers told him.

Do not say ‘I don’t believe in Councilmen.’ Do not say ‘I don’t believe in Councilmen.’

“Yes, I’m sensing that,” Shawn answered. “But I believe that Carrie did. Am I right Councilman?”

“A lot of new age nonsense,” said Drowvers, “But yes, Carrie was always going on about that hocus-pocus.”

Shawn looked to Gus and mouthed ‘hocus-pocus.’ Apparently it was outdated slang day for everyone.

“I once walked in on her burning leaves in my office,” Drowvers continued. “Something about clearing the space of negative forces. The smell got into everything. I had to keep my windows open for a week to air it out.”

“Mr. Spencer,” Chief Vick interjected, “Has often worked with our department on a series of high profile cases.”

Drowvers snorted. Like a walrus, thought Shawn, like an unpleasant, drooling, smelly walrus.

“However,” Vick continued, “He won’t be needed on this case. Our detectives have already determined that this was a suicide, and, barring any surprises in the autopsy, there won’t be a need for any further investigation.”

Shawn’s focus suddenly shifted to the mirrored wall in the back of the elevator. He could see Lassie’s reflection behind his own. See the small, self satisfied smirk starting at the corner of his mouth. That would not do.

“Of course Chief, like Detective Lassiter said, Gus and I were just leaving.” Shawn stepped aside to allow Vick and the councilman to step out of the elevator. Vick flashed him a quick, tight lipped smile. The councilman didn’t look at him at all.

Shawn stepped into the elevator, Gus closely behind him. Shawn punched a button at random and waved to Lassiter, who watched him through narrowed eyes, until the doors slid shut and hid him from view.

Shawn counted to ten.

He punched the button for the third floor.

“Shawn, we were just on the third floor,” Gus said.

“Were we?” Shawn asked, “You’re sure the third floor isn’t the lobby?”

“How would the lobby be on the third floor?” Gus asked.

“They’re called thirobbies Gus, and they’re very popular in Europe.”

“You told Chief Vick we weren’t going to that apartment.”

“No,” Shawn corrected, “I told her we were leaving. And we did. Now we’re going back.”

“What’s the point? You heard her say it was a suicide.”

“Gus, did you forget? What does little boy cat say?”

“Nothing. He’s a cat.”

“Wrong,” Shawn answered as the doors slid open again. “He says meow. Also purr. But most importantly, little boy cat says it’s never, ever, a suicide. And even if it was, don’t you think it’s just a little weird that that the dead girls boss insisted on coming down here to identify the body before they moved it to the morgue?”

“He asked to come down here? How do you know that?” asked Gus as he followed Shawn down the hall.

“I heard it from the spirit world. Or maybe over the second extension of Lassie’s phone.”

“Lassiter’s phone had a second extension? Where?”

“Our office.” Shawn cut Gus off before he could protest, “I know, weird right? I told the SBPD tech guys I thought there was some kind of mistake in their installation schedule but you know how they can be, once they get an order there’s no stopping them.”

“Shawn, wire tapping a police phone line is a federal crime.”

Shawn shrugged, “Gus, what’s important right now isn’t how I knew Drowvers wanted to come down here, it’s that I knew it. I mean, come on, whose first reaction to finding out his assistant has been killed is ‘Don’t touch anything until I see the body’?”

“It is a little weird.” Gus acquiesced.

“See buddy, we should be in there! Assessing the juju and asousing the hoodoo!”

“Asousing isn’t a word.”

“Sure it is. It’s like, sousing, but with an ‘a’.”

“Shawn, ‘sousing’ means to pickle something in brine.”

“Pickled hoodoo Gus. It’s a thing.”

“That is not a thing. And speaking of hoodoo, how did you know that this dead girl…”

“Carrie.” Shawn interjected.

“Carrie, was into… alternate lifestyles?” Gus finished.

“Do you mean the new age stuff or the raging lesbianism?”

“The new age stuff. Wait, she was a raging lesbian?”

“No.” Shawn answered, then paused to consider, “Possibly. I have no idea. But she did have a row of salt sprinkled outside her apartment door, Wicca 101.”

“How would you know?” asked Gus.

Shawn snorted, “Like I’ve never seen The Craft.”

They reached the apartment. A uniform was watching the door, of course, but Shawn and Gus never had any trouble getting past them anymore. Shawn’s eyes scanned the room as he made his way towards the bedroom in the back. Empty grocery bags by the door. A single empty glass drying next to the sink. A jacket tossed carelessly over the back of a couch. Photos of a twenty something girl he assumed was Carrie (cute, short red hair, freckles) and her parents (more freckles) standing outside a modest home somewhere in the Midwest, photos of her friends. No boyfriends. A bookshelf full of political history books. A pamphlet for Yale Law School. A notepad laid open on the table next to a stack of brochures about a new beachfront development.

Shawn slipped into the bedroom unnoticed; no small feat considering it was about the size of a closet. Carrie’s body was laid out on her bed, fully clothed, a bottle of empty pills in her hand. The end table next to the bed was bare except for a small lamp and a PDA. The Councilman stood over the body, frowning. Chief Vick was at the foot of the bed, looking anxious, while Juliet stood against the wall taking notes. Lassie was about two inches away from the doorway, his back to Shawn.

“Was there a note?” asked Drowvers.

“Not that we’ve found,” answered Juliet, “But we’re sending an officer to check her computer at your office, she may have sent it in an email. Or maybe there wasn’t one at all.”

Of course there wasn’t a note. It had taken Shawn approximately two seconds in the bedroom to determine that this was a murder. Shawn gave himself a mental pat on the back. He was awesome. He raised his hands to his head. He took a deep breath.

“I’m getting something!” Shawn exclaimed.

Lassie jumped. His hand was halfway to his gun before he registered the sudden noise behind him as non-threat. At least, not a threat that required a lethal force reaction. Yet.

“Uhh, Godfather Three! The Matrix Reloaded! The Search for Spock… Terrible sequels! Return to Oz! Fairuza Balk! No, wait… Tick-Tock! Tick-tock… you don’t stop! ” Shawn continued, stumbling slightly before gripping Lassiter’s arm for support.

Lassiter pivoted to face Shawn, leaning in close and hissing in his ear, “If the next sentence out of your mouth is in any way related to sexing something up so help me god I will shoot you in the Adam’s apple.”

Shawn ignored him, for now. Although the Adam’s apple thing was weird. He pushed past Lassie into the center of the room.

“Ticking! Tocking! Can you hear it? Tick tock tick tock!”

“A clock?” asked Juliet.

“Yes, but smaller! It’s so small… like a mouse or a coin or what’s left of Lassie’s dignity. It’s a tiny, tiny clock!”

“A watch!” she chirped, pleased as always to solve Shawn’s clues.

“Watch! Yes!” Shawn confirmed, “Councilman, did Carrie wear a watch?”

The councilman blanched for a moment. It was almost imperceptible; Shawn doubted anyone else would have noticed. Maybe it was in reaction to Shawn’s display of psychic prowess. Maybe it was something more.

“Y…yes,” stammered Drowvers, “She did.”

“But that watch wasn’t on the body when the police arrived?” Shawn asked. The girl’s bare wrist had been the first thing he had noticed. She had been wearing what looked to be a very high tech digital watch in every picture in the living room.

Juliet glanced down at her notes, “No, no one’s touched her.” she confirmed.

Chief Vic crossed her arms, “Do you think that means something Mr. Spencer?” Her voice was terse, but curious, as it always was when Shawn disobeyed a direct order while simultaneously delivering the goods.

“Maybe she lost it,” Lassiter suggested. “Or put it away somewhere.”

“Or maybe,” Shawn continued, “This wasn’t a suicide. Maybe this was murder.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The room went silent. Shawn wasn’t surprised by the glare Lassie was giving him, but he was a little shaken up by look he was getting from Chief Vick. Councilman Drowvers was turning red around the ears, a nice contrast to the pale-as-a-ghost look he had sported a moment earlier. Jules just looked embarrassed.

Shawn wondered if he had jumped on the murder bus a stop too early.

“Mr. Spencer,” the Chief was the first to speak, “I hardly think that one missing piece of jewelry constitutes murder.”

Shawn scrunched his face in mock concentration, “Oh, uh… there’s more!” He brought his hands to his throat, “Kack! Kack! Kack!”

“What is it Mr. Spencer?” asked Vick, “Are you okay? Are you trying to say something?”

“Kack kack!”

“He’s choking,” said Juliet.

“The victim didn’t choke to death O’Hara,” Lassiter muttered.

“Kack Kack!”

“He’s getting a hairball!” said Gus, working his way into the already overcrowded room.

“What, hairball? No, Gus, I’m thirsty. Come on guys, thirsty?”

“No one goes kack kack when they’re thirsty Shawn.”

Lassiter stepped forward, looking around the room, “There’s no water in here.”

“How could she take all those pills without a glass of water?” asked Juliet.

Lassiter frowned, “She couldn’t.”

“I’m seeing a glass, by the sink. It’s been washed recently.” Shawn told them.

Gus leaned over the bed, reading the label of the bottle in the corpse’s hand, “This is Talhipiphrol. It’s a powerful sleeping pill. There’s no way she could have taken more than a couple of these and still have been able to make it to the kitchen and wash out a glass. They would have knocked her out instantly.”

“Plus she’s wearing shoes,” added Juliet, “No woman I know would lie on her bed without taking her shoes off first. ”

Lassiter’s frown deepened. “Why didn’t you point that out before O’Hara?”

“Why didn’t you?” she retorted.

“Okay,” Chief Vick said. “This may be a crime scene.”

Shawn snuck Gus a little fist bump.

“Councilman, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask all civilians to leave the room.”

There was a little shuffle as Shawn, Gus and Lassiter rearranged themselves to allow Juliet to lead the Councilman out. It was tight quarters, and if Shawn found himself momentarily pressed against Carlton Lassiter’s back it could hardly be seen as anything but accidental. And if in that moment Shawn had let his eyes flutter closed as he breathed in Lassiter’s scent, well, that too was an accident. Shawn thought he caught whiffs of aftershave mixed with some kind of bar soap. The smell was too subtle to really make out. Shawn wished he was a super sniffer.

“You too, Mr. Spencer, Mr. Guster,” Vick added. Shawn’s eyes snapped back open.

“What?” Shawn protested, “But I just divined all that great stuff about the watch and the water!”

“And I appreciate that,” Vick told him, “But this has the potential to be a very delicate case and we need to proceed cautiously. Plus I’m about to bring in the crime scene unit and the last thing they need is the two of you underfoot. If you see anything else that can help us please, call the station, otherwise we’ll handle it from here.”

Shawn knew better then to go against Vick’s words twice in one day. Besides, he had already seen what he needed to.

“Fine,” said Shawn, “Lassie, if you need us we’ll be in the throbby.”

Lassiter opened his mouth momentarily before snapping it closed again. Apparently he’d decided it was better not to ask. Shawn grinned to himself as he followed Gus out of the room.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They were halfway back to the Psych office and Shawn had barely said a word. Gus glanced over at the passenger seat to see Shawn typing intently on his phone.

“What are you doing?” asked Gus.

“I’m posting a twitter.”

Shawn read aloud as he punched in his entry, “Lassie is secret R and B fan. Recognizes Color Me Badd when he hears it.”

“Nobody wants to read about that Shawn.”

Shawn snorted, “Tell that to the twenty three followers of at santabarbarasfinest. And by finest I mean fiiinest.”

“You have a problem.”

“Oh! I’m getting a response. Let’s see… at spencerisatool says, ‘stop tweeting about me’. Heh. Gus, do you think it’s telling that Lassie’s screen name has both ‘Spencer’ and ‘tool’ in it?”

“No, Shawn.” Gus answered.

“You don’t?” asked Shawn, disappointed.

“I mean no, we’re not having this conversation.”

“Gus…”

“We agreed. You get to bring up you creepy man crush on Lassiter or mention Lassiter and sex in the same sentence no more than once every-other Wednesday. Today is a Friday. Not even an every-other Friday. I had to listen to twenty minutes of ‘are Lassie’s eyes more azure or cerulean’ two nights ago and I’m not going through it again this week.”

“Please. It only took me thirteen minutes to settle on azure and you know it. Unless he’s angry. Then they’re more of a cobalt…”

“I will push you out of this car.”

“You know, I never put restrictions on how often you can talk about your crushes.”

“That’s because I don’t get crushes on gun wielding maniacs who are old enough to be my father.”

“What about Melvin Van Peebles?” asked Shawn.

“Exception to the rule.”

“Besides, Lassie is so not old enough to be my father. Not unless he was like, the most virile nine year old ever. Which… maybe. I mean, he seems like he’s got a lot of testosterone so…”

“I’m serious Shawn. I will push you out of this moving vehicle.”

“Hey, okay! I wasn’t even going to talk about Lassie. I was just reading the twitter feeder thingy.”

Gus rolled his eyes, “I don’t know why he responds to your posts, he must know it only encourages you.”

“It’s because he secretly luvs me Gus, and one day we will date and he will kiss me and take off my…”

“SHAWN!”

Shawn let out a long, plaintive sigh. Gus was, of course, unaffected. He’d been immune to Shawn’s sulking since the 7th grade.

“Fine,” said Shawn, “Let’s talk about Councilman Drowvers.”

“Why, do you have a crush on him too?”

“Eww, Gus, no,” Shawn scrunched up his nose. “But I do think he could be our killer.”

“What killer Shawn? We don’t even know for sure yet that it wasn’t a suicide.”

“Of course it wasn’t a suicide. Did you see her apartment? She had friends, family, she was passionate about politics and applying to Yale Law, she had her whole life in front of her. And you said it yourself, there’s no way she could have made it to the kitchen and back to her bed after taking those pills.”

Gus made a noncommittal noise.

“And she didn’t leave a note, even though she was obviously close to her parents. There was a notepad right on the table, you think she wouldn’t have taken even a few minutes to write how sorry she was?”

“Okay, but why do you think Drowvers is the guy?” asked Gus.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because he’s obviously the guy? I mean, did you see him? The man looks like the lovechild of Sidney Greenstreet and Droopy Dog.”

“Droopy Dog does not even swing that way, and you can’t say the man’s a murderer just because of the way he looks.”

“How about because of the way he insisted on going to the crime scene? Or the way he did his best Casper impression when I asked about the watch?”

Gus considered, “So you think, what? Maybe he killed her and took the watch? Why?”

“I don’t know Gus, maybe it had his DNA on it, or maybe he gave it to her and took it to hide an affair they were having, maybe he just has a penchant for lady jewelry.”

“That’s not much to go on.”

“That’s why we need to go and check out his office. We need to know more about Drowvers and the dead girl.”

“You know I’m not breaking into a government office.”

“Don’t be a chocolate flavored worrywart Gus, I have a plan to get us in.”

Gus pressed his lips together, but he made the left turn at the next light putting them in the direction of City Hall. Shawn felt a little fuzzy in his heart. Gus complained often enough, but he was always willing to follow Shawn down the cobbled road to Solving a Murderington Town. He was a good friend, even with the ridiculous Lassie related restrictions.

Hmm. Lassie related restrictions… Shawn broke into a wide grin as his mind wandered. Sometimes he really, really loved Henry for teaching him such excellent visualization skills.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hello, my name is Stephan Royce Jr. and this is my business partner and financial adviser Reginald Patrick-Patrick Watersburrow.”

“Hello.” Gus smiled down at the receptionist who gave him an absentminded nod in return.

The three of them were alone in the tiny front room of Drowver’s office. It was full of wall to wall filing cabinets and lit by a dull florescent overhead lamp. Apparently a habitable office wasn’t one of the perks that came with sitting on the Santa Barbra City Council. Shawn could see the councilman’s desk through a door in the back, but he needed to get closer.

“We’ve been great admirers of Councilman Drowvers for some time,” said Shawn in his best ‘Santa Barbra elite’ voice, “And we decided that today was the day that we’d waltz down to his office and make a sizable financial contribution to his reelection campaign.”

“Oh, um, alright.” The man responded, “I think there’s some kind of paperwork here…” He fumbled through some stacks of folders on the desk.

“Mr. Watersburrow, I’m beginning to get the impression that we may have caught this young man at a less than convenient time.”

“Oh, no… it’s just. Does it really show?” The receptionist flushed in embarrassment, “I’m sorry. I don’t usually handle the front desk.”

Shawn exchanged a quick glance with Gus, “You don’t say. And who, pray tell, usually mans said front desk station?”

“Councilman Drowvers’s intern.” The man answered, then leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, “She died today.”

Shawn and Gus recoiled in mock-horror, “No!” Shawn exclaimed.

“Yes!” Confirmed the man, “There was an officer, McNabb, here just a few minutes ago. He took Carrie’s computer and he said the police thought it could be… murder!”

“Murder!” cried Gus, clutching at his shirt. Shawn grabbed a piece of paper off the desk and used it to rapidly fan Gus off.

“Oh dear,” said Shawn, “I’m afraid my colleague here has a very delicate constitution when it comes to matters of mortality. I don’t suppose you could fetch him some water?”

“There’s a kitchen just down the hall…”

“And some aspirin and a cold compress.” added Shawn.

“There’s a first aid station downstairs…”

“And a pineapple and some kosher sea salt and a copy of the latest Harper’s Bazaar.”

“Um, maybe at the convenience store on the corner.”

“Perfect!” said Shawn, “You be a good lad and run along. We’ll just wait here until you return.”

“I’m not sure if you’re supposed to be in here alone…”

Gus collapsed into a chair and squealed with hysterics.

“Um, okay!” the man said, “Just, just wait here!” He left at a half run down the hallway. Shawn closed the door as soon as he was out of sight.

“What are we looking for?” asked Gus, rising to his feet.

“I’m not sure…” Shawn answered, “But if the councilman killed Carrie then he had to have a reason. See if you can find something incriminating.”

“How about this handwritten and signed confession?” asked Gus, holding up a piece of paper.

“Oooh! Let me see!” Shawn snatched the paper from Gus’s hand.

“Gus, this is just a flyer for the… Drowvers Community Center and Playspace. Playspace? Really?”

“Yeah, there are stacks of those flyers all over this place.”

“There was a pile in Carrie’s apartment too.” Shawn recalled.

“I don’t know Shawn, it says here Drowvers put $100,000 of his own money into this project and raised almost $600,000 more on his own. A man doesn’t build a park for kids one day and go around killing people the next.”

“Maybe…” Shawn answered, moving into Drowvers’s office.

He scanned the room. Messy. Cramped. A day old newspaper. A picture of his wife and children on his desk. An invoice from the community center construction site signed by someone with the initials ‘KB’. $2,000 for copper piping.

Gus sat himself at Drowvers’s desk and punched at the computer, “Any guesses at a password?” he asked.

Shawn shook his head and was just about to dig through a filing cabinet when something over Gus’s shoulder caught his eye; a glint of light from a window across the street.

“Dude, come on, we’ve gotta go.”

Gus rolled his eyes, “Right, because we couldn’t possibly stay in one place for longer than five minutes.”

“Five minutes is all I need.”

Gus grinned, "You might not wanna advertise that, Shawn."

Shawn rolled his eyes, “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Uh huh.”

They ran into the man from the office on their way out, who had miraculously managed to find everything on Shawn’s list. Shawn thanked him for his effort but assured him Gus was fully recovered and told him that he was welcome to keep everything he’d collected. Except the pineapple.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The room across the street was vacant and emptied of all furniture, with the exception of a folding chair set up next to the high powered video camera Shawn had seen gleaming in the sun from Drowvers’s office.

Shawn peered through the viewfinder. The camera was angled to have a direct shot at Drowvers’s desk. The picture would have been perfect if not for a slight glare off the glass of Drowvers’s window. Shawn’s memory flashed back to what the councilman had said in Carrie’s apartment.

\--I once walked in on her burning leaves in my office… I had to keep my windows open for a week to air it out.--

“Dude!” Shawn exclaimed, “I think Carrie was spying on Drowvers! That’s why she burnt the smelly leaves!”

“Why?” asked Gus.

“So he’d open the window and she’d have a better view.”

“No, I mean, why was she spying on him?”

Shawn frowned, “I don’t know…”

He played back the last video taken. It showed Drowvers’s in his office, making a call. There wasn’t any audio, and Drowvers’s back was to the camera making lip reading (if Shawn could read lips, which—no matter what Gus thought—he totally could), impossible. Shawn could see the first few numbers Drowvers dialed though.

“Gus, what kind of call starts with 0-11-41?”

“That’s an international call. I think ‘41’ is the country code for Switzerland.”

“Switzerland? That’s where they have vodka and blondes, right?”

“That’s Sweden Shawn. Switzerland had watches and banks.”

“Banks… right.”

“Do you think this video is why Carrie was killed?” asked Gus.

“I don’t know,” answered Shawn, “There’s no sound… it doesn’t really show anything worth killing for, I don’t think.”

The video ended with Drowvers hanging up the phone and moving to leave his office, but something on his desk stopped him. He picked up a small silver band that Shawn recognized as Carrie’s watch. Drowvers opened the door to his office and called into the main room. Carrie appeared, looking flustered, and took her watch from Drowvers. She seemed to be apologizing. Drowvers patted Carrie on the arm and they both left the office together.

The playback ended abruptly and switched to live feed.

Through the viewfinder Shawn could see that Drowvers had returned to his office. Even with the obscured view Shawn could tell he was agitated. He slammed the door closed as he entered and went directly to the desk. He picked up his phone and dialed, jabbing each number in a firm, violent motion. Shawn couldn’t see the phone itself, but he mimicked Drowvers’s movements with his own hand. He let his eyes close and visualized a keypad underneath his finger. He mimicked Drowvers again, this time watching where his finger would land on his imaginary phone. 5-5-5-3-8-5-8.

Shawn had seen that number before. On the flyers in Drowvers’s office. It was the contact number listed for the construction site, right under a box calling for volunteer painters.

Shawn opened his eyes again. Drowvers was yelling into the handset, wiping his brow as sweat dripped down his face.

“How did that guy get elected?” Shawn asked, “He has about as much charisma as that linty lifesaver I found in the cushions of your couch last week.”

“You ate that lifesaver Shawn,” Gus reminded him.

“It was pineapple flavored,” Shawn answered. “And I rinsed it off first.”

Drowvers slammed the phone into its receiver and stormed back out of his office. Shawn didn’t imagine he was coming back any time soon.

Shawn glanced at Gus. He was wearing his standard issue Gus uniform, slacks and a button down shirt.

“Do you still have those coveralls we used to paint your living room?” he asked.

“What we? You only painted like, a quarter of a wall before you got a ‘hand cramp’ and had to go on a root beer run.”

“That root beer was delicious and refreshing—and it’s not like I didn’t share with you.”

“You bought it with the cash you took from my wallet when I had my back turned.” answered Gus.

“I do you the favor of helping you paint your apartment and you can’t even spring for a lousy soda. Typical.”

They argued about the ethics of root beer compensation all the way back to Gus’s car.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Of all the moldy upside-down cake at Christmas… this was just typical. Shawn goes through all the trouble of getting dressed up in his house painter disguise—complete with coveralls, blue painter’s cap and little plastic booties to keep his Chuck Taylors in pristine condition—only to have his cover blown the second he and Gus walked through the doors of the half built community center.

Well, Shawn supposed that he could still pretend that he and Gus were here to volunteer, but he doubted Lassie and Jules would believe him. They definitely weren’t going to believe that his name was Michael Michelangelo and that Gus was his apprentice Pick Ah-So, and when was there ever going to be a more perfect time to use those aliases?

The detectives were standing in what would be the lobby of the center once it was finished. Juliet looked bored and Lassiter looked perturbed, more so than usual. Shawn guessed that they were waiting for someone. He was about to propose that he and Gus make a hasty exit and look for a side entrance when Juliet spotted them.

“Hi guys!” Juliet called out, giving a little wave.

Lassiter turned and filched, like seeing Shawn and Gus caused him physical pain, “What are you two doing here?”

“Same as you,” Shawn answered. “We’re here to paint!”

“We’re not here to paint,” Lassiter answered.

“Then why are you wearing your paint clothes?” asked Shawn.

“We’re not in paint clothes.”

Shawn scrunched up his nose and examined Lassiter, “Those aren’t paint clothes?”

“This is the same suit I always wear!”

“You might not want to admit to always wearing the same suit in public Lassie. People might start to question your hygiene.”

Lassiter glared at Shawn. Shawn smiled back, the picture of innocence and virtue.

Juliet broke the silence, “We found about a dozen calls from Carrie to Kyle Brown, the site manager here, on Carrie’s cell. A couple were just hours before when Woody put her time of death.”

“Ah,” said Gus, “So you think this Kyle Brown could have been involved?”

Juliet shrugged, “Maybe. To be honest we don’t have a lot else to go on. Whoever was in Carrie’s apartment with her didn’t leave any prints behind.”

“If someone was in her apartment with her,” Lassiter corrected. “We still haven’t ruled out suicide.”

Shawn shot Lassiter a look. He didn’t mind that the detective didn’t buy into his psychic act, in fact his skepticism was one of the things Shawn liked most about him, but his insistence on clinging to his first theories on a case in the face of new evidence was irritating. Lassie was just lucky he was handsome enough to make up for one or two character flaws.

Juliet’s phone buzzed and she flipped it open with her usual enthusiasm, “Yeah, Chief. Okay. Okay, got it.” She snapped the phone closed again, “That was the chief. One of Carrie’s neighbors reported seeing a man matching Councilman Drowvers’s description outside her building the night she was killed.”

Yes! Shawn had been right! Drowvers was the guy.

“She wants us to go by Drowvers’s office and question him right away.” Juliet continued.

“But we still have to question Brown,” Lassiter answered.

Ooh! Opportunity! Shawn sprung into action.

“Why doesn’t Gus take you to Drowvers’s office Jules, and I can stay here with Lassie.” Shawn asked.

“Would you mind Gus?” asked Juliet.

“Not at all.” he answered.

“Fine,” said Lassiter, “But there’s no reason for you to stay here Spencer, you can go with Guster and O’Hara.”

Nurfflenuts!

“Uh, I can’t do that. Gus’s back seat is full of paint brushes and paint trays and paint… things. He should take Jules and I’ll just catch a ride with you when you’re done here.”

Lassiter sighed, “Alright, you can wait here, quietly, while I talk to Brown.”

Internal victory dance!

Gus left with Juliet and moments later, Kyle Brown appeared.

Shawn had seen enough home repair shows at Henry’s house to know who qualified as a hot carpenter when he saw one. Kyle Brown qualified. Did he ever qualify. He was young; with a square jaw and cheekbones that even Shawn had to admit rivaled his own. The wife beater he wore proved he was no stranger to heavy lifting and the way his tool belt sat on his hips verged on criminal. He was chewing something that for one, terribly unattractive moment Shawn had thought was tobacco, but Brown swallowed it and licked his lips, showing the tip of a black-stained tongue. Licorice, Shawn realized.

Shawn glanced at Lassiter just in time to see the detective’s eyes pan up Brown as he approached. He felt the familiar mix of hope and jealousy that always washed over him when he caught Lassie checking out another man. It had only been a few times; a jogger who’d passed on the street, the bartender after one of their softball games, the new officer at the station who’d decided to transfer a few days later after receiving and anonymous psychic tip that his best chance at a quick promotion would be found in San Diego.

If Lassiter hadn’t been married there wouldn’t be much doubt in Shawn’s mind, but Bi was so much harder to pinpoint then the full Gay. Shawn didn’t think Bi would really describe Lassie anyway. He was 70/30, at best. Shawn wondered if he could make it 60/40.

“Mr. Brown?” asked Lassiter, “Detective Carlton Lassiter.” He flashed his badge.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Brown answered. “We can’t let anyone back there without one of these.” He tapped a couple of times on his hard hat and winked.

“I have some questions for you about Carrie Owens.”

“Oh yeah,” said Brown, “I heard what happened. Shame. She was a good kid.”

“How well did you know Miss Owens?” asked Lassiter.

“Not well. She did some liaison work for Councilman Drowvers, pretty basic stuff. You know Drowvers almost single handedly funded this construction. When it’s finished this will be the nicest community center in the state. The playground is going to be right on the beach.”

Brown pulled a candy from his pocket and expertly shucked the wrapper. More licorice. He tucked it in his cheek and looked intently at Lassiter as he spoke, “It feels really nice, building this place, helping the kids…”

“That’s great,” said Lassiter, cutting Brown off, “Miss Owens made several phone calls to you last night; can you tell me what those were about?”

“Just work,” said Brown, “We’re a little behind schedule and she wanted to make sure we’d still make the June 19th ribbon cutting. She was coordinating the event, I think.”

“She called you at 11 pm to talk to you about ribbon cutting?” asked Lassiter, skeptical.

“What can I say? She was a real type A. Not my type though. ” Brown flashed Lassiter a wide, rakish grin, “That girl worked twenty four hours a day. She always had a notepad with her to jot down ideas for the center. If she didn’t have any paper she’d make little voice memos to herself on her watch. I think she was more excited about it than anyone else on the project. It was a real passion for her.”

“Wait, voice memos?” asked Shawn.

“Yeah,” confirmed Brown, “She had this fancy Japanese watch her folks had given her for graduation that could record sound. She tried to show me how it works once but I don’t have the head for that kind of thing. Look, I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to tell you. I didn’t know her very well.”

“Alright,” said Lassiter, “Well if you think of anything that can help us please contact me. Here’s my card.”

“I’ll do that.” Brown answered, sliding Lassiter’s card into his back pocket. He pulled a scrap of paper out of his tool belt and scribbled something down on it, “And if you need to talk to me for any reason at all here’s my card. Nice meeting you, detective.”

Shawn and Lassiter both watched Brown walk away a little longer than necessary.

“What do you think?” asked Lassiter as he and Shawn headed for Lassiter’s car.

“I think he wants to play two fifths of the Village People with you.”

“I meant about the phone calls. Do you buy this ‘ribbon cutting’ business?”

“Not really,” answered Shawn, “But it’s possible. I couldn’t get a good reading. My psychic receptors were blocked by his ridiculous biceps. How much do you think he could bench press?”

Lassiter shot Shawn a narrow look and then showed Shawn the paper Brown had given him, “Why don’t you give him a call and ask. I’m sure he’d be happy to demonstrate.”

Brown had written his name and number, as well as the words ‘I’m single.’ Lassiter was clearly mocking him, but Shawn wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass.

“Naw, I don’t like men with too many muscles. I’ve always gone for more of a runner’s build on a guy. Besides, that note was clearly intended for you.”

Lassiter snorted, “It’s the badge. It does it for some people.”

“Maybe,” said Shawn, “Or maybe it’s the penetrating eyes, or the gravely bedroom voice, or the whole ‘Hello, I am Detective Lassie and I will pin you down and make you stay’ vibe. Or the tie.”

Shawn glanced at Lassiter.

“Okay, probably not the tie.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Lassiter, “I don’t date…”

“Men?” Shawn asked. In his head it had sounded blithe and casual. It didn’t come out that way.

Lassiter stopped short. He turned and looked Shawn squarely in the eye.

“Suspects.” he said.

Shawn felt himself go red with a little flush of happiness, which was replaced almost immediately by a bout of self consciousness when he noticed how Lassiter was smiling at him. It was a smile that Shawn had seen before, but all too rarely.

The first time had been when he caught Lassie at Henry’s house eating fish that they’d gotten up at some unheard of hour to catch. It had been one of the scariest moments Shawn had ever experienced. He didn’t know which thought had been more disturbing; that Henry had spent all morning saying god knows what about Shawn to Shawn’s most secret crush ever or that Henry and Lassie seemed to be getting along so well. He didn’t like to think about how much his father and Lassiter had in common, that territory was way too oedipal for him to handle.

Shawn had been trying to come up with a quick and brilliant plan to destroy Lassie and Henry’s blooming friendship forever when Henry had decided this was the perfect time to tell Lassiter about the ‘raccoon incident’—completely neglecting, by the way, to mention that that raccoon had probably been rabid and had definitely had shifty, shifty eyes.

Shawn had expected Lassiter to join in with ‘Shawn ruins my cases!’ or ‘Shawn is annoying’ or ‘Shawn is a poop head!’, but he hadn’t. He’d just looked at Shawn and smiled. Not the superior, contemptuous smile Shawn had been expecting—although Shawn had to admit that there was a little of the superiority—but there was something else too. Bemused affection, Shawn had labeled it, after filling only three sheets of notebook paper with alternate ideas.

Just a smile, and it hadn’t been much, but it had been enough. Enough to shifts Shawn’s thinking from ‘never gonna happen’ to ‘maybe, maybe, maybe I got a little bit of a chance’.

And then there had been the months, the years, of vision-touching and man-handling and raised voices and shared glances and subtle compromise and begrudging admiration and too much murder and never the right moment. There had been Jules and Abby and half a dozen other girls Shawn had tried to talk himself into liking more than he did. There had been secrets confessed to Gus that Gus had already known for years. There had been moment after moment that Shawn had thought might be the moment, but never was.

And now there was this moment.

Shawn struggled for something witty or charming or sexy to say that would break the tension, or maybe something that would confirm what he knew Lassie was suspecting, but he was too slow. Lassiter turned suddenly away and resumed the walk towards his car at a quickened pace until he was several feet ahead of Shawn. That was fine. Shawn knew better than to push too fast. He’d been working on Lassie for years; he could back off for another few days. Or day. Or hour.

Shawn could back off for another hour.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gus and Jules were already back at the station when Shawn and Lassiter arrived.

“What did you learn?” Lassiter asked Juliet.

“Not a lot. Councilman Drowvers admitted to being there, he said he’d been dropping off some paperwork about the center. Apparently it was Carrie’s passion. It backs up, she had a notebook at home and a computer at Drowvers’s office filled with press released and donor requests she’d written. She really cared about building something nice for Santa Barbra.”

Lassiter shook his head, “I hate it when it’s the good ones…”

Juliet nodded, “I know.”

“We hit a wall with Brown,” said Lassiter, “I don’t know… maybe if we brought him and Drowvers in…”

“We don’t have enough to go on for that,” said Juliet, “That’s why the Chief wants Shawn to look at some of the things we took from Carrie’s apartment.”

Lassiter scrunched his face, “Oh, come on…”

“I’d be happy to Jules,” Shawn said, smiling widely, “Personal effects often give off strong psychic vibrations.”

Lassiter rolled his eyes and muttered to himself as he pushed past Shawn and went to sit at his desk. Juliet beamed.

“Thanks Shawn,” she said, “I’ll go get them.”

Shawn wandered over to Juliet’s desk with Gus as they waited. She kept her workplace tidy and professional, with the exception of a small stuffed animal Shawn could only describe as a cross between a bear and a cat. Shawn pointed it out to Gus.

“It’s from Scott,” Gus told Shawn. “She told me about it on the way over here. Did you know they were dating again?”

Shawn nodded. Juliet had told him almost immediately when she and Scott had broken their agreement to wait before picking things up again. Scott was still trying to discover himself, traveling the states and through South America, but he sent Juliet little souvenirs he picked up almost daily. Shawn suspected Juliet had wanted Shawn to know because of the way things had been between them. For once, Shawn was honest with her, and told her that that he’d realized a long time ago that he’d built her up in his mind to some kind of ideal—the cheerleader, the prom queen, the girl next door—and that he understood that she needed someone who saw her for who she was, as a woman, as a detective. Someone who saw her as a person, not as a chance to fulfill a teenage fantasy.

Had she been hurt? Disappointed? Offended? Shawn hadn’t been sure, but she’d been understanding when he’d told her there was someone else he was pretty sure he needed to be with. Understanding, and a little too knowing. Juliet, Shawn realized, was a more observant detective than he sometimes gave her credit for.

Shawn picked up the bear-cat off Juliet’s desk and held it in front of his face.

“Gus, check it out.” Shawn animated the stuffed animal’s arms and spoke in a high cartoonish voice, “Mogwai.”

“Don’t play Shawn, you know how I feel about the mogwai.”

“Mooogwai!”

“Shawn…” Gus was slowly backing away from the doll, tugging at his collar.

“Feed me Gus! Feed me after midnight!”

“Damn it!”

With the fear showing plainly on his face, Gus half ran down the hallway before leaving the station to do what Gus would describe as ‘getting some air’ and Shawn would describe as ‘hiding in the sunlight so the gremlins wouldn’t get him’. Shawn chuckled in triumph.

Shawn moved to Lassiter’s desk and sat on the edge. He brought the doll close to Lassie’s face.

“Mogwai.”

Lassiter didn’t so much as glance up from his computer.

Shawn nuzzled the doll’s face against Lassiter’s cheek, “Kissykissykissy.”

Lassiter batted it away with the back of his hand, eyes still locked on his screen.

Shawn pursed his lips and examined doll, turning it over in his hands, “Lassie, how come you never buy me any cute little toys?”

“Because you’re not a child.” Lassiter answered gruffly.

“That’s true, I’m all growed up,” Shawn said knowingly. “But Scott bought Jules Mr. Flufflesworth—I’ve decided to name him Mr. Flufflesworth, by the way—and she’s not a child.”

“She’s a girl.”

“Lassie, I’m surprised at you! That’s completely sexist. You think men don’t enjoy thoughtful gifts as much as women? I bet Jules gets Scott just as many adorable plushies as he gets for her. More even.”

Lassiter rolled his eyes, “He’s her boyfriend Spencer.”

Shawn made Mr. Flufflesworth walk along the surface of Lassiter’s desk, “Sooo…?”

“You really need me to explain to you that we’re not dating?”

“Well,” Shawn countered, “Maybe if you bought me a present we would be.”

Lassiter gave Shawn a quick look and then moved his focus to Mr. Flufflesworth, who was continuing his epic journey over Lassiter’s stapler.

“Or maybe…” Shawn continued, “We could be dating if you asked me out to a nice dinner. Or maybe for a smoothie in the park. Or maybe for a walk around the block. Or maybe just back to your place to…”

Mr. Flufflesworth’s travels were suddenly stopped by Lassiter’s hand resting back of Shawn’s. The touch was so unexpected that Shawn stopped mid sentence, forgetting what he’d been saying. Forgetting even to close his mouth, he stared at the place where Lassiter’s fingers met his skin.

“Spencer.”

“Um…yeah?”

Lassiter took a deep breath through his nose, “You know that I’m…”

“Yes.”

Lassiter’s brow furrowed, “You don’t even know what I was going to…”

“Psychic, remember?”

Lassiter shook his head, drawing his hand away, “I don’t know why I bother.”

Damn it! Damn it! Damnitdamnitdamnit! Shawn struggled for a way to recover from his stupid inability to control his stupid mouth from making stupid jokes. He hadn’t even meant it as a joke. Not really. Okay, so he didn’t know what Lassiter was going to say, not in that way, but he’d spent enough years watching and memorizing the man to make a very educated guess. Lassie was going to say ‘You know that I’m too old for you’, or ‘you know that I’m damaged goods’, or ‘you know that I’m a man’, or ‘you know that I’m a real to goodness cop and you’re a professional liar’, or maybe he was going to list any other of the plethora of valid reasons why he and Shawn shouldn’t be together. Shawn knew before they even started what Lassiter’s excuses would be, and he didn’t care. There was no point in dwelling on what would be wrong about them, whatever it was, it would be worth it.

“Look, Lassie I…”

“We can talk about this later.”

Shawn blinked, “We can?”

Lassiter looked up pointedly across at the hallway and Shawn followed his gaze. Juliet was on her way back towards them. Shawn still had time before she reached them to confirm.

“You want to talk about this? I mean, really talk about this? You’re serious?”

Lassiter’s hand on Shawn’s leg was the only answer Shawn got. It was enough.

Lassiter stood to go meet Juliet, leaving Shawn stunned and alone. Shawn brought the stuffed doll in his hand to his face and buried his nose in it.

“Did you see that Mr. Flufflesworth?” Shawn whispered.

“Yes, Shawn.” Mr. Flufflesworth answered, sounding remarkably like Shawn imitating Smokey the Bear, “I saw it.”

Shawn closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to slow his heart rate. All it had taken was a hand on his leg and he was completely gone. Shawn felt equal parts pathetic and elated. He wondered if he might melt to death, right there, all over Lassie’s desk in the middle of the station. Lassie wouldn’t like that. Shawn smiled a private little smile to himself as he reconsidered… then again… maybe Lassie would like that. Maybe Lassie would like that very much.

“Spencer!”

Lassiter’s voice snapped Shawn out of his reverie and he hopped off the desk (leaving poor Mr. Flufflesworth behind), and walked over to the table that Juliet had laid Carrie’s things across.

Shawn touched his temples and scanned. Nothing. Nothing. Lipstick. Nothing. Nothing. Receipt. Nothing. Wait…

Shawn’s eyes quickly ran through the items from Carrie’s grocery receipt. It was mostly girl food, celery and lean cuisine—Shawn felt affirmed in his decision to marry a steak chewing, potato annihilating, man’s man—but one line item stood out. Six bags of licorice chews.

There was something else too. Carrie had scribbled a note at the bottom. ‘C. Pipe—1600’.

“Nope, sorry Jules, I’m not getting anything.” Shawn said.

Juliet gathered up the items, dejection showing in her shoulders.

Shawn turned to leave and find Gus but Lassiter stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“You sure you didn’t see anything?” he asked.

Shawn resisted the temptation to fake a vision about the chews. He could pretend he was channeling Carrie, pretend he was remembering the taste of anise on Brown’s lips, pretend he thought Lassie was Brown and demonstrate exactly the kind of relationship Shawn suspected the two had shared.

But no, he needed more proof before he could do his reveal. Signs were pointing to Brown, but plenty were still pointing to Drowvers. He needed to go back to the construction site, after dark this time, and see if he could find evidence to back up his theories.

“Sorry Lass, nadda.”

Lassiter released Shawn’s arm and gave him a clear ‘I don’t believe you’ face. Shawn pretended not to notice.

“So, Lassie, I’ve got some things I need to take care of but maybe if you wanted to chat later about, whatever…”

Lassiter looked away and Shawn found himself temporarily mesmerized by the sharp corner of Lassiter’s jaw and the soft skin just below it.

“Call me,” Lassiter said. “Later. Not at work.”

Shawn really, really, really wanted to fake that vision, but he held himself back as Lassiter walked away. He had a case to solve and justice for a dead girl took priority over jumping a living detective. At least until the living detective finished his shift.


	3. Chapter 3

Shawn and Gus parked Gus’s car a few blocks away from the Drowvers ‘Playspace’. Night had fallen a couple of hours earlier and it was dark by the waterfront, they didn’t think they’d be seen approaching on foot.

There were only a few cars out on the road. One, to Shawn’s dismay, was Lassiter’s. He and Gus just narrowly avoiding being seen by ducking into an alley as the sedan rolled past them.

Shawn guessed that Lassiter shared his doubts about Brown and had decided to drive by the construction site and check for suspicious activity. Shawn knew Lassiter wouldn’t, couldn’t, enter Brown’s trailer without a warrant or immediate cause, but he also knew that Lassiter would drive by a suspect’s house ten times in one night looking for an excuse to break down the door. A lesser, equally determined cop would just make up an excuse, burst in and say later that they’d heard a distressed noise or smelled marijuana. Not Lassiter. Shawn sort of loved that about him.

Gus boosted Shawn over the flimsy chain link fence between the sidewalk and the future community center then clambered awkwardly over behind him. They both went into creep mode, staying low to the ground and taking tiny, sneaky steps. They passed the center’s future gymnasium and entered a wide open circle of construction trailers.

“I think Brown’s office is that…” Shawn’s voice trailed off as he spotted two figures approaching from either direction through the dark. He pulled Gus behind the only cover available, a five foot pile of lumber. Shawn peered through a gap in the slats. In the dim light, he could make out one of the figures as Councilman Drowvers.

He could also tell that Drowvers was holding a gun.

“Shawn, we need to go.” Gus whispered.

“They’ll see us.” Shawn answered. He pulled his phone from his pocket. It was too risky to make a call, Drowvers was close now and might overhear it, so Shawn tapped out a text message instead. He hoped that Lassie was still in the neighborhood.

“Drop it Drowvers,” a voice commanded. Shawn recognized it as Kyle Brown’s.

“You drop yours.” Drowvers responded.

“You really think you can outshoot me?” Brown sneered.

“Just give me the watch,” Drowvers said, “And we can both leave like nothing happened.”

“I’m not giving you the watch until you give me what I asked for.” Brown answered.

Shawn’s eyes widened. What had Brown said? -- If she didn’t have any paper she’d make little voice memos to herself on her watch. --

“Gus,” Shawn whispered, “Carrie recorded Drowvers’s call on her watch. That’s why it showed him finding it on the video.”

“That’s great Shawn,” Gus whispered back. “Can we please leave so I don’t die?”

Shawn glanced over his shoulder, trying to decide if there was a way he and Gus could make a run for it without being spotted, when he saw Lassiter round the corner of the half-built gym. Lassiter saw Shawn immediately and raised his finger to his lips in the universal ‘shh’ symbol. Drowvers and Brown were too busy to notice him approaching.

Lassiter reached the lumber pile and crouched down between Shawn and Gus.

“You came!” Shawn whispered, with as much enthusiasm as he dared given the two armed possible-murders arguing a few feet away from them.

“You said it was life or death,” Lassiter answered, “Frankly, I thought you were exaggerating.”

“Where’s the back up?” asked Gus.

“On its way.”

Lassiter gazed through Shawn’s peek hole at Brown and Drowvers, who still had each other at gunpoint and were becoming increasingly agitated with each other.

“If you go left,” Shawn suggested, “And I go right we can rush them.”

“No,” said Lassiter, “You’re going to stay here.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” said Gus.

“Oh come on Lassie, two is always better than one and…”

“Spen… Shawn.” Lassiter looked over at Shawn, his eyes clear and focused. He laid one hand on Shawn’s shoulder, “Stay here and let me handle this. Please.”

One nod from Shawn and Lassiter was gone, steadying his gun hand with the other he stepped out from behind the wood pile, “SBPD. Both of you, place your guns on the ground and step back. Now.”

Lassiter’s voice was clear, commanding, and carried the full weight of what would happen if his orders weren’t complied with. Shawn couldn’t imagine how anyone could resist doing exactly what Lassie told him when he sounded like that, but neither Drowvers nor Brown moved so much as a muscle.

“Thank goodness you’re here detective!” Drowvers exclaimed, “This man is a murderer! Shoot him, quickly shoot him!”

“Don’t listen to him Lassiter!” Brown countered, “He killed Carrie—he’s insane! Quick, take him out before he kills the both of us too!”

Drowvers shook in anger, “He’s lying! He’s the one who…”

“I don’t care which one of you did it, you will both drop the guns now,” Lassiter warned, “If one of you fires I will not hesitate.”

Brown’s eyes shifted and Drowvers went red around the neck, but neither backed down. It was clear to Shawn that something had to be done to break the stalemate, but what? If only he could tell Lassie which one was guilty. He had been so sure it was Drowvers, but was he still? The councilman had the motive but the evidence pointed to Brown. He’d lied about how well he knew Carrie and he had her watch. Brown couldn’t have gotten his hands on it unless he’d been the one to kill her. Shawn was sure Carrie had recorded Drowver’s phone call on it, but what was it to Brown? Maybe Carrie had told him what she’d done, but he wasn’t the one Carrie had been spying on. Drowvers and Brown, neither of them fit, but… but they both fit.

“Dude,” Shawn whispered to Gus, “Lewis Carroll.”

“What?”

Shawn didn’t answer. Images flashed through his mind like a mixed up slide show being put into order. Everything fit. He knew what had happened.

The rush of knowing—of being the only one who knew, took Shawn over. He had won, again. Beaten Drowvers and Brown at their own game. He was going to show them—show them he was smarter than them, better than them—and show Lassie too. Show him how valuable he could be.

Before Gus could stop him, Shawn put his hands to his head and stumbled out of his hiding place and into his moment of triumph.

“I can see it!” Shawn exclaimed, “Ships, shoes, sealing wax! Boiling hot seas!”

“Spencer!” Lassiter hissed through clenched teeth, “What the hell are you doing?”

None of the men lowered their guns, but their eyes were all on Shawn.

“Oh yes, I can see it, I can see it all!

“Councilman Drowvers,” said Shawn, “You told us Carrie was ‘bright and capable’, one of the best interns you ever had. That was the problem, wasn’t it? She was a little too bright. She manned your front desk, handled your incoming mail, she started doing the math and realized that you were taking in more donations than you were reporting. I guess after all those years serving Santa Barbara with nothing to show for it but a lousy two room office finally got to you, and you decided to help yourself to some of the contributions and funnel them to your Swiss bank account. Carrie guessed you were skimming off the top, but she didn’t have proof, so she decided to get some.”

Lassiter trained his gun on the Councilman as Shawn continued, “She set up a video camera in the empty office across from yours for the visual and she recorded the audio of a call you made to your bank with the memo function of the watch she ‘accidently’ left on your desk. She had the proof she needed, but she didn’t go to the press and she didn’t go to the cops. No. She went…”

Shawn pointed his finger at Brown, “To you!”

Brown scowled, but remained silent.

“You told us Carrie wasn’t your type, but that wasn’t true, was it? You were dating. You told us she’d tried to teach you to use her watch, why would she do that for someone she barely knew? Plus she’d stocked up on your favorite licorice chews. She came to you with what Drowvers was doing. She knew a police investigation would mean the end of the “Drowvers Playspace” and, unlike the councilman; she actually cared about giving the children of Santa Barbra a new community center. She hoped that if the two of you confronted Drowvers with what he’d been doing he’d return the money he’d taken and the center could open on time. She never guessed that you were in on the scam the whole time.”

“Drowvers needed someone on site to fudge the numbers on the construction invoices, changing the price of copper pipe from $1,600 to $2,000 for example, in case anyone started to ask questions about where all that donation money was going.”

Lassiter shifted, moving his aim from Drowvers to Brown.

Shawn continued, “You told Drowvers what Carrie had done and the two of you decided there was only one solution. Carrie would have to die. You both went to her apartment last night and you forced her to take those pills. I’m guessing you used those guns to coerce her you sick, sick bastards.”

“You left Kyle Brown behind in the apartment to clean up the mess and cover your trail; you left him alone with Carrie’s body. You realized your mistake when the police called you after they found her. If they played the memo on the watch they’d know you’d killed her. You used your political clout to convince the Chief to let you in to see her body, you hoped you could find a way to take the watch or erase the memo without anyone noticing, but Brown was a step ahead of you. He’d seen opportunity and he’d taken the watch. Between it watch and the video Brown had everything he needed to blackmail you.”

“You told him you were coming with the money, but you weren’t,” Shawn said to Drowvers. “You came here to kill Kyle Brown. Unfortunately for you, Brown expected a double cross, which is why he came armed too.”

“Don’t you see Lassie?” asked Shawn, “It’s not one or the other, it’s both. They both stole the money, they both killed the girl and they both ate the oysters. It was the Walrus and the Carpenter.”

Shawn finished with his typical gusto. Now all Lassiter had to do was arrest them both and… huh. It occurred to Shawn that he might not have thought this all the way through.

“That’s very clever,” said Drowvers, “Wouldn’t you say Kyle?”

“Very.” Brown agreed.

Suddenly the two men’s guns were off each other and pointed directly at Shawn. Shawn froze.

There was a shot, just one, loud and sharp. There was a heavy thud. There was a click that made Shawn’s stomach turn over. There was a sudden burst of movement. Another thud. Scuffling and then more bodies, blue uniformed officers, swarming around him.

And then Juliet was there, somehow, standing next to him.

“Come on Shawn.” she said softly, taking his arm.

There was Gus at his other side, patting Shawn’s chest just to make doubly sure his best friend hadn’t been shot.

There was Lassiter, rolling Councilman Drowvers onto his stomach and coldly reciting his Miranda Rights as he pulled the man’s arms into handcuffs.

And there was the last thing Shawn saw before he let Juliet lead him away. There was the dead body of Kyle Brown.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Of course I knew Drowvers’s gun was going to jam,” Shawn said to the admiring SBPD officers surrounding him at the station. Shawn raised his hand to his head, “I saw it. And I knew Lassie could outshoot Brown so I was never in any real danger.”

Gus glared at Shawn from the corner.

“And uh… Gus was there,” added Shawn, “So even if things went south I knew he’d have my back. Gus is like a ninja. He can disarm a man before anyone even sees him coming.”

Gus shook his head and looked away. Shawn sighed. It it was bad news when Gus couldn’t be placated by compliments.

Shawn had screwed up, he knew he had. He had put Gus in the position of almost watching Shawn get himself killed and Gus had a right to be angry about it. He would forgive Shawn, of course, but Shawn would have to spend a few lonely days leaving Gus unanswered voicemails and sending long email apologies first.

Still, just because Gus knew the truth didn’t mean that Shawn couldn’t cash in on his near death experience and milk some acclaim from his pseudo-peers on the force. He was just about to tell again how he’d known the whole time that Drowvers hadn’t acted alone when a firm hand clamped down on the back of his neck.

“Walk.” instructed Lassiter.

“Lassie!” Shawn exclaimed happily, “All done with internal affairs? If you need me to talk to them again I can. I’ll tell them it was was a one hundred percent justified shooting. No! I’ll tell them one hundred and ten percent!”

Lassiter didn’t answer, just tightened his grip and lead Shawn down the steps to the interrogation rooms.

“Oh,” said Shawn, “Are we going to have a private little debriefing? You know I’ve read about things like this but I never thought they would happen to me…”

Lassiter threw open the door to interrogation room ‘A’ and shoved Shawn inside. He followed closely behind him and slammed the door closed.

“So are you going to be good cop or gooood cop?” asked Shawn, turning to face Lassiter.

“Quiet!” Lassiter snarled. Snarled. Shawn had heard Henry do that when he was a kid but only when he was really, really, in trouble. Like, accidently set fire to the garage while Henry was inside it trouble. It had sent chills down his spine to hear it then and it sent chills down his spine to hear it now. Shawn was no longer enjoying this.

“You are going to stand still and be quiet and listen.”

Shawn didn’t move. He didn’t speak. Lassiter paced back and forth between Shawn and the interrogation room’s only door.

“I’ve seen a lot of idiotic things in my life Spencer, most of them having to do with you, but nothing, nothing, like what you did tonight. Stepping into the middle of an armed standoff?”

Shawn blinked in surprise. It wasn’t unusual for Lassie to be angry at him, but there was something very different about this. The only other time Shawn had seen Lassie this mad was when he’d tossed the cell phone off the dock in the middle of Yang’s ridiculous game. Lassiter had warned him what would happen if his callousness made Yang kill that waitress. Lassiter’s tone and stance were exactly the same now as they had been then. But how did that make sense? Shawn hadn’t endangered anyone tonight. Except himself, of course… Oh.

Oh.

“You. Are. Not. A. Cop. Do you understand me?” Lassiter continued, “I don’t care how many murders you’ve ‘solved’ or how many paychecks you’ve collected from this department, you’re not a cop. You don’t get the badge, you don’t get the gun, you don’t collect the pension and you do not. Do. Not. Take the risks.”

Shawn’s head was swimming. Tonight hadn’t been the first time he’d gotten involved when guns were drawn, not by a long shot. Lassiter had never liked it, but he’d always accepted it. Begrudgingly accepted it, sure, but accepted it. Cop or no cop, Shawn was part of the team. Or, if not part of the team, he was at least along for the ride. Nothing had changed, had it?

“I don’t expect you to do what I tell you to on a daily basis, I’d like you to—god knows it would make my life easier—but I don’t expect you to. But when it’s guns, Spencer? Guns? That is what I’m trained for. That’s what I train every day for. That is when you let me do my job and stay out of my fucking way.”

But something had changed. Over the years, over the months, over the past few days, something had changed. It had been subtle, so subtle that not even Shawn—the world’s most observant man—had seen it.

“I know what you think of me. You think I’m some kind of joke. You and Guster and laugh at me behind my back, hell, you laugh at me to my face often enough for me to know that. I don’t care Spencer. I don’t care if you don’t like me, but you will respect me. When the ‘fun’ part of playing detective is over and it’s us and a suspect and life and death? You will respect me. You will go where I tell you to go and stay where I tell you to stay because it is my fucking job to protect the innocent and—as much as we both might hate it—that includes you.”

When had it happened? Shawn wasn’t sure. Still, now, with the proof written on Lassiter’s face and coming out with his every word, Shawn knew it had happened. At some point between the touching and the teasing and the hints and the almost-promises Lassiter had stopped seeing Shawn as expendable. No, that wasn’t right, Lassie had never seen him as expendable—he didn’t see anyone that way—but he’d seen Shawn’s life as Shawn’s life, for Shawn to live or to throw away by waltzing into danger as he saw fit. Not anymore. Now Shawn’s life was still Shawn’s life, but a little bit of Lassie’s life too. At some point, Shawn realized, Lassie had started seeing Shawn as part of his life. An important part. And Shawn had missed it.

It had been there, in Lassie’s eyes when he’d told Shawn to stay put. Except, he hadn’t told him—he’d asked him. He’d said please. He’d asked Shawn to keep himself safe and Shawn had ignored him. It had been there the whole time and Shawn had walked right past it. He’d been too focused on getting to the big reveal. Too focused on getting to the shiny red box.

“You are not a cop. You’re not a cop and you never will be. If Drowvers’s gun hadn’t jammed you’d be dead Spencer. Dead. And don’t give me that psychic bullshit because we both know that’s what it is. Bullshit. You’re not a psychic. You’re not a cop. You’re just… you’re just a damn lucky fucking idiot.”

The memory of Henry’s voice scraped across Shawn's mind, -- You could have walked out of here today with what you really wanted, but you blew it. --

Lassiter slumped into one of the interrogation room chairs. He stared straight ahead, not even glancing at Shawn. He was quiet now, his jaw clenched, the veins in his neck defined in his anger.

Shawn could leave. The path to the door was clear now. He could just walk out and leave. Leave the station, leave town. Slink off with his tail between his legs and leave forever. Leave like he always did when things got too real, when people got too close. Leave and pretend like he wasn’t still reeling from the horrible, terrifying truth of how close he had come to death. Leave and forget that even now, hours later, the hairs on his arms were still on end and his hands had never stopped shaking.

He could take his Robotron Mega Bot 3000 and go.

\-- You blew it. --

No. No, Henry. No. Not this time.

“You’re absolutely right,” said Shawn.

Lassiter arched an eyebrow.

“Not about the idiot thing, obviously.” Shawn waved a hand dismissively before Lassiter could answer.

“Its fine, I know you don’t really think that anyway. I’m weird, I’m undisciplined, okay. I get that. I also get that if you really thought I was endangering innocent citizens or jeopardizing your ability to put a criminal behind bars you wouldn’t let me within a hundred feet of a police line, much less behind one. You care too much to let your personal feelings get in the way of giving Santa Barbara the best protection you can. That’s why it doesn’t matter how much I annoy you, or how much you complain, you’ll swallow your pride every time I’m called in on a case because you know I’m not an idiot. You know I’m a good detective. You know how often I’m right.”

“But no,” Shawn continued, “I’m not an officer. I never will be. I never could be. The minute Brown and Drowvers pointed those guns at me I froze. I don’t know what happened. I just couldn’t handle it. All I could see was my life, almost gone like just like that. Do you have any idea how scary that… don’t answer that. I know you do.”

“I guess the difference between us is a man points a gun at me and I freak—a man points a gun at you and you can handle it. You can handle when it’s your life on the line. What you can’t handle is seeing someone else in danger. You’d rather take a hundred bullets yourself then see someone else take just one. Even if that someone is a stupid faker psychic detective who brought it on themselves. I know that about you Lassie, I know it, so please don’t say that I think you’re a joke. ”

“I know you’re not a joke and… god,” Shawn blinked back the damp at the edge of his eyes, his head rolled back and he stared at the ceiling above him, “Don’t say I don’t like you. I respect you Carlton. I respect you. I like you. Fuck do I like you. You have to know what I think of you. By now you have to know, I mean I’m pretty much Captain Obvious over here.”

He spread his arms helplessly then let them fall back to his sides.

“I don’t know how many times you’ve put my life or Gus’s life or the life of some random stranger on the street ahead of your own. I don’t want to know, because it’s too much to take. I’ve known a lot of cops—enough to know the difference between the ones who fake being a hero and the ones who’re the real thing. You’re the real thing. And… and that you were there today, that you’re there every day, every day looking out for the people of this city and… and for me…”

Shawn swallowed roughly, he knew he was babbling by this point but he couldn’t help it. Everything he’d been holding back since Brown pointed that gun on him and pulled the trigger was mixing with everything he’d been holding back from Lassiter for years and bubbling uncontrollably to the surface. Apparently, if he wasn’t going to let his body cry tears, it was going to cry words.

“That you saved my life tonight, for the god… god knows how many times it’s been. That you’re always, always there when I… I’m lucky. I’m… I’m lucky. Please, please don’t think I don’t know that. I do. I’m lucky. I’m lucky, Lassie. And I’m sorry. Please… I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking and… Please believe me. You’re, you’re just… All the other guys were talking about the robot and I thought that if I had one too… but I didn’t want the robot. I wanted Stockbroker Ken. I’ve always wanted Stockbroker Ken. ”

Shawn forced himself to stop. Forced himself to bring his head back down and face the man he had just, what… confessed to? Yes. That’s exactly what he’d done. He’d confessed to Detective Lassiter in interrogation room A.

Lassiter’s expression was unreadable. Shawn’s blood pounded in his ears, sweat edged down the back of his neck. He felt too vulnerable, too raw. His all of his walls and the little turtle shell of lies and false carelessness he had spent so long building for himself were gone. He was exposed. Far too exposed. He thought he might die. He wanted to curl into a fetal position and cry until Gus came to get him—but he couldn’t move. Not with Lassiter’s eyes holding him where he stood.

Lassiter let out a long, slow breath. He drew a hand over his face and rested his chin in his palm, “Stockbroker Ken.”

Lassiter was considering something, Shawn couldn’t tell what. The pause was unbearable. Finally, Lassiter spoke again. “I had a Ken Doll once. In college, actually. I know, I was far too old for it, but I saw it one day on the shelf and I couldn’t help myself, I had to take it home. It was ‘beach Ken’, or something like that. It had these little green swim trunks and a surfboard and real hair, not the plastic helmet kind, real hair like a Barbie has, only shorter of course. Light brown, and it stuck straight up.”

Lassiter laughed to himself, “I don’t believe it. I stared at that thing every day for two years and it took me this long to realize he looked exactly like you.”

Shawn didn’t answer. There was no reason to, because Lassie couldn’t have actually said that. He wouldn’t have. Shawn was sure he’d imagined it. He had cracked, that’s all there was to it, and soon the men in white coats would come and take him away. He wondered if he’d be able to have visitors at the Sunnyside Home for Crazy Fake Psychics who Hallucinated about Handsome Detectives Saying the Most Ridiculously Sexy Things Ever Said. He wondered if Henry would give him enough cash to buy hair gel from the hospital commissary. He wondered if they’d serve pineapple in little paper cups.

But Lassiter was standing now, making eye contact again and Shawn stopped thinking about his future as an in-patient. He stopped thinking about anything at all. There was only Lassiter looking at him, moving towards him, standing inches away from him. There was only Lassiter, cupping Shawn’s jaw in the palm of his hand.

Eight seconds, and this time Shawn was only 23 percent sure that Lassiter wasn’t going to kiss him.

“Spencer…”

22 percent sure.

 

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	4. Chapter 4

Shawn had always thought their first kiss would be rough and passionate and maybe even a little violent. It would have been a fitting counterpoint all the times he’d pushed at Lassie and all the times Lassie had pushed back. But it wasn’t like that at all.

Lassie’s lips just played across his, light and soft, and took Shawn completely by surprise. He reciprocated less than he wanted to but as much as he dared. This was Lassiter’s show—for now—and if tender was what he needed then that’s what Shawn was going to give him.

When Lassiter stopped moving Shawn did too and he held his breath, waiting for Lassiter to do something. Something that he prayed didn’t involve pretending that this had never happened.

Lassiter just stood there, his mouth pressed against Shawn’s, and let out a long sigh of… of what…? Shawn couldn’t tell. Contentment? Relief? Resignation?

“Okay,” Lassiter muttered into Shawn’s mouth, “Okay.”

Lassiter slid his face across Shawn’s cheek and pulled him into a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered into Shawn’s ear.

“For kissing me?” Shawn asked.

Lassiter chuckled, low and soft, and Shawn smiled as the vibration from Lassie’s chest rumbled against his own.

“Definitely not,” Lassiter answered, “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I just couldn’t stand it Shawn. I couldn’t take the thought of you getting yourself… getting yourself hurt.”

“I know,” said Shawn, “And I’m sorry too, I know I already said that but I really, I’m so sorry…”

“Shhh.”

Shawn obeyed. He rested his head on Lassiter’s shoulder and just let himself be held. With anyone else, Shawn mused, the silence would never last. He had always been frantic and verbal with his lovers, careful to avoid any stillness that could push the relationship over the thin line between ‘fun’ and ‘romantic’. But this? This with Lassie? Shawn could do this. Shawn could do this a lot.

Lassiter pulled away far too soon for Shawn’s liking, drawing back to examine him while he rubbed his hands slowly up and down Shawn’s arms. He smiled that warm, real smile that crinkled the lines around his eyes and drove Shawn absolutely crazy.

“I’d like you to go home.” Lassiter told him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Shawn.

Lassiter shook his head, “I need to meet with the Chief and finish filing a report and you’ve been through a lot tonight, too much to suffer through sitting around watching me do paperwork.”

Lassiter must have noticed the protest starting to form on Shawn’s lips. He stopped it short by laying his hand across Shawn’s cheek.

“Go home,” he said, “Get some rest. I’ll come to you as soon as I can.”

“Yeah,” Shawn agreed. “Okay.”

At that moment, Shawn would have agreed to turn himself into a three toed hippopotamus through sheer force of will if Lassiter had asked him to.

Lassiter leaned forward and placed another soft, dry kiss on Shawn’s lips, “This is crazy. You know that, right Spencer?”

“I do,” Shawn answered, “But I’m good at crazy.”

Lassiter grinned and stroked his hand on Shawn’s jaw, “Find O’Hara. She’ll take you home. From what I saw of Guster he’s not in the mood to give you a ride.”

“He’ll get over it. No one can resist my boyish charms for long.”

“I’m well aware.” Lassiter answered as he turned and left the room.

As Shawn followed him out he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His pupils were wide, his lips swollen, his cheeks flushed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen himself looking so damned happy.

 

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If Jules thought it was odd that Shawn barely said three words during the ride back to his place she didn’t let it show. She dropped Shawn off with a promise to call him that evening, just to check in.

Shawn had been at the station nearly all night and the sun was just starting to edge over the mountains to the east. Part of Shawn, a big part, wanted to collapse in bed and sleep until it went down again, but if Lassie showed up while Shawn was sleeping he might get the idea that Shawn was too tired for other activities. Shawn wasn’t willing to risk it.

He took a quick shower, during which he resisted the urge to replay the moment he and Lassie had shared just an hour before, and pulled on a clean pair of jeans. He was still standing in the middle of the room trying to make up his mind between brewing a pot of coffee or running a few laps around the block in an effort to work up some energy when his door opened.

Shawn found the way Lassiter let himself in without so much as knocking extremely presumptuous and, if he were being honest, just a little hot. Shawn had taken to keeping his door unlocked during business hours ever since the first time a harried businessman had walked in on Shawn and Gus watching Mannequin and asked to have his suit pressed. Shawn had proved a fairly serviceable laun… Laundrater? Laundrurner? Laundresstrur?

Shawn had proved to be pretty good at doing laundry. Good enough to have three semi-regular clients who paid enough to keep Shawn in churros without having to dip into the Psych slush fund.

Still, the ‘open door’ policy was for customers only. Lassie knew this was a private residence, despite what it might look like on the outside, and there were rules of decorum that should be followed, damn it! Under normal circumstances Shawn would have baited Lassiter by telling him he needed a warrant to enter Shawn’s home, or maybe asking him if he’d ever heard the term ‘right to privacy’, but something about the way Lassie was staring at his bare torso made him decide to file those particular lines away for later.

Lassiter let his gaze travel slowly over Shawn’s stomach and up the length of his chest before he looked him in the eye.

“I don’t do things halfway Spencer.” he said, “If we go through with this you should know that you won’t…”

Before Lassiter could finish the sentence Shawn was on him. There was nothing soft this time, just the wet want of Shawn’s lips and the firm response of Lassiter’s hands pressed against Shawn’s hips, his fingers hooking into the belt loops of Shawn’s jeans and pulling Shawn toward him. Shawn opened his mouth to Lassiter, eager for the taste, and Lassiter responded by trapping Shawn’s lower lip in his mouth and scraping it gently with his teeth.

Shawn groaned and pushed against Lassiter’s jacket but his thumbs got caught on the holster he’d forgotten Lassie would be wearing. Lassiter caught Shawn’s hands in his own and drew back.

“Let me.” he said.

Shawn shook his head emphatically, and tried to reach again for Lassiter’s lapel, but Lassiter stopped him with a firm hand spread against his chest. He pushed forward, walking Shawn backwards until Shawn felt the edge of his mattress against the back of his knees. Lassiter moved his hand to Shawn’s shoulder and pressed down compelling, rather than forcing, Shawn to sit.

“Wait.” Lassiter told him, before walking deliberately to the Laundromat’s counter.

He shrugged off his jacket and hung it on an empty hanger on Shawn’s rotating clothing rack. He removed his holster and placed it on the counter, then unclipped his badge from his belt and laid it next to his gun. He reached down and slipped off his loafers, and then one at a time peeled off his socks and tucked them carefully in the toe of their corresponding shoe.

Shawn shifted on the bed, “I can’t decide if this is the best or the worst strip tease I’ve ever seen.”

Lassiter smiled at Shawn as he loosened his tie and pulled it over his head. He looped it on another free hanger just to the left of where his jacket hung. When he fiddled a little too long with the first button of his collar Shawn exhaled in frustration and Lassiter’s smile turned into a knowing smirk. Shawn’s eyes widened.

“Barron Von Arrogant Bastardson!” Shawn said accusatorily, “You’re doing this on purpose!”

Lassiter tilted his head, “Doing what Spencer?”

“Tease!”

“Me? After four years of you sitting in my lap, clinging to my arm and running your hands across my face every time you have a theory about a case? After all that suddenly I’m the tease?”

“This is a hell of a time for payback Lassie.”

Lassiter laughed, “You’ve got a point.”

He quickly slid his belt free of his trousers and dropped it carelessly on the floor before moving back to the bed to stand above Shawn. He ran a hand through Shawn’s hair as he looked down at him.

“Come ‘ere.” he muttered.

Shawn rested his face against Lassiter’s shirt. He pushed a kiss onto his stomach through the stiff white fabric then undid the bottom buttons while Lassiter did the same with the ones at the top. Shawn tugged the shirt free of Lassiter’s waistband and watched it fall off Lassiter’s shoulders to the floor.

Shawn wasn’t sure what fascinated him more, the soft trail of black hair that ran down the center of Lassiter’s chest and disappeared into his pants below his naval, or the edges of Lassiter’s hipbones that formed the top of perfect ‘V’. Shawn ran his tongue experimentally over the soft joint of skin where hip met stomach.

Lassiter drew in a sharp breath and pushed his hips forward, only slightly, but it was all the encouragement Shawn needed.

Shawn drew his hands around the edge of Lassiter’s waistband and popped open the button of his fly. He pulled down the zipper and Lassiter stepped out of his pants as Shawn pushed them down, taking Lassiter’s boxers with them.

Shawn paused, just for a moment. Just long enough to memorize the scene. Lassiter was naked in front of him and it was… perfect. He was just the way Shawn had imagined him. There was the thin frame of defined muscles just below the skin, but not too defined, still soft enough in the right places that Shawn didn’t feel intimidated. There was the jarring contrast of thick black hair (god, Shawn loved thick hair), against the pale skin, and there was… Shawn swallowed roughly… there was his cock, just as it should be, longer and thinner than Shawn’s, like Lassiter himself. Half hard and getting harder just from being looked at. Strong veins ran along the exposed underside that Shawn just had to taste…

Shawn leaned forward but Lassiter stopped him, again, this time with hands at the back of his head, pulling gently at his hair. Shawn grunted. This was getting very old. He decided it was no time for subtlety.

“Lassie,” Shawn announced, “I want your cock in my mouth, please, tell me what possible problem you could have with that.”

“Take your pants off.” Lassiter answered, in that voice. The self assured, ‘I’m going to tell you what to do and you’re going to do it’ cop voice that he used when instructing suspects. Shawn’s jeans were halfway down his thighs before it even occurred to Shawn that he didn’t have to do what Lassie told him to. Lassiter grabbed the bottoms of Shawn’s pants legs and pulled, hard, as Shawn scooted back onto the bed.

Lassiter looked down at Shawn appreciatively, his blue eyes blazing and his hand drifting to his own cock, stroking it slowly.

“You could just shoot me.” Shawn suggested, “I mean, you’re obviously trying to kill me Lass, and a gun would be much faster.”

Lassiter climbed onto the bed, straddling Shawn without touching him. He leaned down and kissed Shawn on the mouth, probing with his tongue. Slowly, he lowered his full weight onto Shawn’s body, drawing back from their kiss to take in a deep breath.

He moved his head to the side of Shawn’s face and sucked on the corner of his jaw as he braced himself on his forearms and began a slow build of friction, working himself against Shawn. When their cocks brushed Shawn let out an exclamation of pleasure that made Lassiter laugh into Shawn’s neck.

“This is what you want? Hmm?” Lassiter asked, rubbing himself gently across Shawn, “Is it? Show me Shawn, show me how much you want it.”

Shawn arched up off the bed, pressing himself against Lassiter.

“Yesss,” Lassiter hissed, “Yes, Spencer, that’s right. You let me feel it.”

“Spencer? Really? My cock is making ‘happy to meet you’ with, ugh, your cock and you’re still going to call me, ah, Spencer?”

Lassiter ground down hard against Shawn, “I’ll call you whatever the fuck I’d like.”

“Okay.” Shawn agreed between breaths, “But that means I also get to call you—Damn it Lassie!—whatever I want to.”

Lassiter lifted himself slightly and tore one of Shawn’s hands away from the sheets. He guided it between them and purposefully wrapped it around both of their erections. Shawn moaned in understanding and worked his hand up their lengths as Lassiter braced himself again and began thrusting in earnest.

“And what,” Lassiter asked between clenched teeth, “What, oh fuck yes, what exactly do you want to call me?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Shawn answered in a pathetically hopeless attempt to sound casual, “Maybe Susan McSexalot McGee? Oh god. Or Volson ‘Hot Ass’ Pajamapants? More, Lassie. More. Or Head Dicktective Lassiter. Get it? Dick-tecive? With a ‘With a ‘K’? Oh Lassie, Lass… don’t, don’tdon’tdon’t stop.”

Lassiter growled softly, “I liked that last one. Say it again.”

Shawn happily, if somewhat involuntarily, obliged, “Don’t stop, don’t stop. Don’t… oh god. So close. I’m so close. Please Lass. That’s so fucking good Lassie don’t, don’t you dare… fuck! Fuck, Carlton, yes! God Yes!”

Shawn shook as he came, trashing his head from side to side and gripping the blanket beneath him so hard with his free hand that he could feel his fingernails digging into his palm even through the fabric. Hot liquid spilled onto his stomach and Shawn knew it was hitting Lassiter too, and that was too much to take quietly. Words failed him, but he let out a long, loud stream of noises that made him grateful not to have next door neighbors.

Lassiter thrust again. Once. Twice. And then he was coming too, groaning Shawn’s name.

Shawn pulled his hand—his impossibly, deliciously sticky hand—out of the way just before Lassiter collapsed on top of him. He wrapped his arms around Lassiter’s back and held him to him. He could feel their come, still warm between their stomachs, and Shawn idly wondered if it would stick him and Lassiter together forever if they stayed this way until it dried.

Lassiter turned his head to Shawn’s ear and lightly kissed his earlobe.

“Shawn?” he muttered.

“Hmm?”

“Don’t ever call me Susan.”

Shawn chuckled, “Whatever you say, Carlton. Whatever you say.”

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A quick nap and a repeat performance later, Shawn lay on his back, his head resting against Lassiter’s arm. Lassiter was holding one of Shawn’s hands to his chest, absentmindedly lacing and unlacing their fingers as he stared at the ceiling. Shawn pursed his lips.

“I won’t what?” asked Shawn.

“Hmm?”

“You said something before.”

Shawn mimicked Lassiter’s voice, deep and low like a He-Man cartoon, “I don’t do things halfway and if we go through with this you won’t…’ I won’t what Lassie?”

“Oh.” Lassiter replied, “I was going to say that if we go through with this you won’t be able to get rid of me without one hell of a fight.”

“Lass…” Shawn purred, “Didn’t I just prove to you that I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“Not a lover Spencer.” Lassiter corrected, “You’re my lover. Mine. I know it’s all the vogue these days to be ‘open’ and go to debauched swinging parties…”

“You do know this isn’t the 1960’s and I’m not your frustrated housewife, right?” Shawn interrupted.

“I don’t share,” said Lassiter.

“Fair enough,” said Shawn, “Until further notice, which let’s hope won’t come until fornever, I’m your lover exclusively. Although frankly I prefer the term luuuverrr.”

Lassiter snorted.

“But Lassie,” Shawn said, his voice suddenly grave, “You should know that as much as I’m enjoying this sudden new development in the life of Shawn, I’m still gonna be me. I’m still gonna eat Cheetos in bed, I’m still gonna stay up all night watching Wes Craven movies, I’m still gonna have Gus as my number one contact on speed dial and I’m definitely still going to do Psych. No matter what we are, my job is my job. I won’t give it up.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.” Lassiter answered honestly. “I know that this, us, isn’t going to change everything. Not everything about you and certainly not everything about me. My career is still as important to me as Psych is to you. I’m never going to stop taking it seriously so don’t expect me to be any happier now than I was before to see you hang around the station when people are trying to work, or nose in on cases you don’t belong on, or make an idiot of yourself during one of your ‘visions’ or do any of the other hundreds of things you’ve concocted to make my life at work more difficult.”

Shawn rolled over and pressed himself close against Lassiter’s chest.

“You’re not going to be even a little bit happier?” he asked.

“No.”

Shawn hovered his face inches above Lassie’s, “Not even a little, wittle bit happier?”

“No.”

“Not even a teensie-meensie-weensie tiny-winey pineapple-piney bit happier?” Shawn asked, his lips brushing the corner of Lassiter’s mouth.

Lassiter smirked, “Maybe.”

As Lassiter rolled Shawn onto his back and pushed a forceful kiss into his mouth Shawn decided that Lassie was only half right. This wasn’t going to change everything, but still, everything had changed.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE END

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lassiter snorted, “It’s the badge. It does it for some people.”

“Maybe,” said Shawn, “Or maybe it’s the penetrating eyes, or the gravely bedroom voice, or maybe it’s the way you’re hung like a three-hole punch.”

“AAAAAH-HAH-HAH-HAH-HAH!”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


End file.
